


The Man in the Alley

by Swordy



Series: You've Done All the Things... [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Broken Bones, Broken Dean, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Malnutrition, Mental Breakdown, Mute Dean Winchester, Permanent Injury, Post-Purgatory, Post-Purgatory Dean Winchester, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: Prequel to 'You've Done All the Things That Could Kill You Somehow'“I know you’re scared, but I want you to trust me.”In all her nursing career, she's never had a patient like this.





	1. The Night Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to thruterryseyes for the beta and the art (to be added!). I always wanted to do a prequel to this story, so here's the start. There will of course be more of the boys' journey after the main story to come...

“You gonna eat this or do I have to take one for the team?” Katie says as she waves the last foil-wrapped chocolate at her colleague, a thank you from a grateful patient.

Rachel looks up from the notes she’s reading and grins. “It’s all yours.”

  
She closes the file and slips it back into the drawer while Katie unwraps the chocolate and bites into it happily.

  
“You see Britain’s Got Talent last night?” Katie asks, still chewing.

  
“Only the first ten minutes. Steve wanted the football on.”

  
“Huh. It’s good to know there are _some_ benefits of being single.”

  
Rachel laughs. They’re four hours into a twelve-hour shift and things are reasonably quiet on their floor. Steve texted a couple of hours ago to say the kids were in bed and he’d finally sorted out the problem with their internet connection so all’s quiet on that front too. Although she prefers being busy, she’s experienced enough to take these lulls when they happen because in this hospital, they’re rare as rocking horse shit.

  
She’s about to go and check on her patients when the phone on the desk starts to ring. Before she picks up the handset she looks at Katie.

  
“I’ll get this, can you go and check on Mr. Parkinson? He needs a BP reading.”

  
“Will do,” her colleague replies, pushing away from the nurses’ station and heading off down to the wards.

  
“HDU,” she says by way of greeting.

  
“Hi hon,” the caller says, the soft Geordie accent identifying her instantly. “You busy?”

  
“Aw, don’t make me tempt providence, Kel. How’s things in the zoo?”

  
“So-so,” her colleague replies.

  
Rachel worked Accident and Emergency for eight years so she knows ‘so-so’ means that there’s the usual assortment of drunk and destitute cluttering up the waiting room alongside people who would be better waiting until the morning to see their own doctors. ‘So-so’ means very few actual accidents or emergencies, which, understandably, isn’t a cause for complaint.

  
“Did you get those results you were chasing earlier?”

  
“I did, thanks. Hey, did you get the green light for this Saturday?”

  
“I did,” Rachel replies, grinning. “Steve’s gonna take the kids up to his mum’s.”

  
At the other end of the phone there’s a crash and unintelligible raised voices. Kelly’s lack of reply indicates that she’s obviously been distracted by whatever’s going on there.

  
“Kel? Everything okay?”

  
“What the hell...” she hears her colleague mutter before she seems to remember that she’s on the phone. “Rach? I’ll call you back.”

  
The handset’s dead instantly. Rachel frowns and replaces it just as Katie returns from her ward round.

  
“Problem?” Katie asks, seeing her expression.

  
“Dunno. It was Kelly. Something’s kicking off down there.”

  
Katie rolls her eyes.

  
“God, I don’t miss working A &E.”

  
“You and me both.”

  
OoOoO

  
A short time later, Rachel finds herself taking the elevator down to the ground floor. One of her patients on High Dependency has regained consciousness and is raving about his personal effects, so she’s promised she’ll go down to A&E to see if they’re there from when he was admitted earlier.

  
As soon as she’s on the shop floor she realises that something feels different. It’s busy - not Friday or Saturday night busy, but all attention seems to be focussed on one particular bay. She can hear Kelly’s voice in there, but it’s tense-sounding and she’s clearly in the thick of whatever’s happening. Hospital security is out in force alongside some uniformed police officers, one of whom she recognises.

  
“Pete?” she says when she’s close enough to attract his attention. On closer inspection, his uniform is dirty with... mud? “What’s going on?”

  
“Wish I knew,” he says, running a hand across his shaven head. “We got a call, right? There’s a guy in an alley behind Mumbai Spice in St. Pancras; it was called in as an assault.”

  
“And?”

  
“And, it’s not like any assault I’ve ever attended.”

He stops as there’s a shout from the end bay, an animalistic noise born of pain, fear or both. They both look, but there’s nothing to see with the curtain firmly drawn. The two security guards edge closer. Pete turns to look at her again.

  
“We get there and at first we can’t see anything. The guy’s like, hidden himself between some bins. Anyway, when we find him, we tell him it’s safe to come out, but he doesn’t move. So, Tony goes in to help him thinking maybe he’s injured and the guy friggin’ _leaps_ at him like a wild animal. Took three of us to restrain him and he _still_ didn't stop fighting us. The paramedics had to sedate him in the end, which is the only reason he's not still there.”

  
“Is he old, young, what?” she asks.

  
“No goddamned clue, but he's bloody strong. You wanna see him, Rach,” he says shaking his head. “If he wasn’t in the middle of St. Pancras, I’d have sworn that they’d found him in a swamp or something.”

  
There’s more shouting, then the curtain snaps back and Kelly emerges from the bay. She’s got dirt smeared on her face and uniform. When she sees Rachel, she hurries over, looking relieved.

  
“Tell me you’re here to help.” She’s not kidding either.

  
“I _can_ ,” Rachel replies, still perplexed. “What do you need me to do?”

  
“Come help me get some Midazolam in this guy.”

  
Things must be bad if they’re trying to sedate him again. Kelly’s got that winning combination of firm manner and good looks, so if she’s failed at reasoning with the guy then drugs are obviously the only option. Instantly in business mode, she snaps on some latex gloves while Kelly goes to sort out the medication.

  
She draws back the curtain and goes in. The bay is actually three bays together and yet it still looks crowded with other medical and security staff cluttering up the place, their collective attention on the furthest corner.

  
On the floor a man is sitting hunched, back pressed against the wall, one arm wrapped tightly around his body as his eyes dart around the assembled group warily. He’s caked head to toe in mud and his clothes are tattered and torn. There’s blood, too, in the mess that should be his hair, but it’s impossible to tell where it originated. He looks _wild_.

  
She steps forward without a second thought.

  
“Hey,” she says gently, crouching down, although she’s still a safe enough distance away in case he tries to attack her. “What’s your name?”

  
Silence. His gaze flicks upwards, eyes narrowed, as if he’s in pain.

  
“Can we turn off these lights?” she says over her shoulder, mindful of keeping her voice even.

  
Someone does as she asks. She doesn’t think she’s imagining it, but the look of pain eases a fraction.

  
“We just want to help you,” she says, studying him closely. “My name’s Rachel. I’m a nurse. I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

  
He looks straight at her now, and she waits while he appraises her. She moves forward a fraction, still poised to turn and run if need be, but keen to see if he will allow her closer. Now she looks, she can see his right arm is hugged tight to his chest and, whereas his left hand is balled into a fist as it rests against his legs, his right is splayed open. It doesn’t take an x-ray to see that most, if not all, of the fingers have been broken.

  
His gaze suddenly flicks away from her face to somewhere over her shoulder. Kelly, she realises, has come up behind her, presumably with a syringe full of sedative to bring this standoff to a swift conclusion.

  
“Give it to me,” Rachel says calmly, holding out her hand without turning.

  
“Rach...” Kelly says and her tone is awash with concern.

  
“ _Please_.”

  
The syringe and a swab is placed on her outstretched palm, the action watched by their mystery man. Her colleague backs away, and even though there is a phalanx of strong men poised to ride to her rescue, it feels like she and the man on the floor are the only two people in the world.

  
“I want to help you,” she repeats evenly. “Will you let me? You look like you need a friend right now.”

  
She’s closer than ever now – mere feet from him. He remains stock still, which she’s stubbornly telling herself is a good thing. Although he’s already seen it, she shows him the syringe.

  
“I want to give you this. It’s something that will help you relax because we just want to help you.”

  
Her heart’s in her mouth as she reaches out and touches his left arm. He flinches slightly, but doesn’t pull away or go to strike her. His eyes are flicking between the sedative and her face.

  
“I know you’re scared, but I want you to trust me.”

  
There’s a couple of inches of wrist clear of the ragged cuff of his jacket, which she decides to aim for; it’s far from ideal because his skin is so dirty and the small alcohol swab won't be enough, but needs must. She knows the staff behind her will be expecting her to strike quickly, but instinct is telling her not to – she’s asking him to trust her so tricking him seems unfair when he’s plainly terrified.

  
“Can I?” she asks quietly, meeting his eyes, communicating that she won’t do this without his permission.

  
He studies her for what feels like an eternity, then glances down to the purchase she has on his arm. His eyes flick briefly back to her face before they close. Permission given.

  
“Okay,” she says, finally allowing herself to breathe as she sets to work. “Thank you. You’re doing great.”

  
She can feel the collective release of tension in the room with the sedative administered; it’s fast-acting so within a few minutes it should take effect, allowing them to finally examine him. If this were a movie, she thinks, the people behind her would probably burst into applause, but it’s not and they don’t. They’re sensible enough to hang back because they can see that she’s going to stay with him until the drugs have kicked in.

  
With the imminent danger resolved, she studies him more closely, all the while still muttering gentle words of encouragement. Pete was right – the guy’s dirty, dishevelled appearance makes it impossible to age him, but she thinks he’s younger than they’re all imagining. He’s got facial hair, but nothing she’d describe as a beard because it’s patchy and it seems that there have been rudimentary attempts to keep it from getting too long.

 

All in all, whatever’s happened to him has reduced him to this level of trauma. She’s moved and also profoundly touched that he allowed her to help him. Much later when she's reflecting on the evening's events, she’ll blame this unexpected cavalcade of emotions for what she does next.

  
Within five minutes the guy’s basically asleep and the world behind her has come back to life. She tunes into a conversation – Kelly and one of the other nurses – about what the hell they’re going to do with him, because the sedation won’t last forever.

  
“Bring him upstairs,” she finds herself saying suddenly. “The isolation ward is empty. We can put him in there.”

  
Kelly approaches her as she stands up, her knees creaking in protest. “But-”

  
“It’s okay,” she replies. “I’ll clear it with management.”

  
She glances back to the figure slumped in the corner. The decision will undoubtedly come with headaches, but it’s still the right one.

  
OoOoO

  
Unsurprisingly, there’s little resistance from her colleagues in A&E about her plan to take him upstairs to the isolation ward. Security are, at first, insistent that they accompany the gurney up there and stay, until she convinces them that she’ll be fine – she’ll call them if she needs them.

  
The sedative they used is one supposed to cause conscious sedation, but it’s knocked him for six. While he’s out for the count she does some preliminary checks and sets about getting him out of his clothes and cleaned up so they can check him over properly.

  
Katie’s agreed to keep everything else ticking over so she can get as much done as possible while he’s still unconscious. She’s grateful, although she’d seen Katie’s bemused expression when she’d returned from a run downstairs to look for some guy’s wallet with a whole new patient in tow.

  
“Okay,” she says, more to herself than the sleeping man on the trolley. He’s lying on his side, in no better state than he had been when he’d first been admitted. Time to remedy that. She gets to work with her scissors, cutting a path through his upper clothing first. He’s wearing a leather jacket so, at first, she makes frustratingly slow progress. After that, things are much easier.

  
As she cuts away an overshirt and then a t-shirt, she realises that her original assessment about his build is way off. He’s definitely tall – over six foot for certain – but the body beneath the dirty clothes is thin in a way that says it hasn’t seen food for a significant amount of time, and her concern for his pitiful condition increases tenfold.

  
She cuts everything away, and tosses it all into a clinical waste bag. While he’s still so out of it, she fills a bowl with warm water and begins to gently soap away the dirt on his skin. It takes more time and pressure than she’d anticipated, telling her that the grime has been there a while. She can’t apply too much pressure though because who knows what injuries lie beneath it all?

  
“What the hell has happened to you, fella?” she says quietly.

  
It takes a solid hour, but eventually she stands back to admire her handiwork.

  
It’s worse than she thought.

  
He looks, for want of a better word, like he’s been _mauled_. His bare flesh is riddled with injuries – some look old, others much more recent. There are puncture wounds, slashes – hell, there’s even some that she’d swear are claw marks. She’s mulling this over when the door opens and Katie steps into the room.

  
“Holy...shit,” Katie says under her breath as she approaches, which Rachel considers a pretty accurate summation of her own feelings on the matter.

  
“Do you know if Pete’s left yet?” Rachel asks.

The police will need photos because even though they don’t know what’s happened to him yet, a crime has undoubtedly occurred. People definitely don't get into this state by choice.

  
“Yeah, they’ve gone. They’ve asked you to call when they think he might be ready to be interviewed.”

  
“They not had any luck IDing him yet?”

  
Katie shakes her head, her eyes still fixed on the broken body on the bed. “No. I’ve given them the phone you found in his pocket. If it doesn’t work then they’ve got nothing...”

  
They stand for a moment, studying his sleeping form.

  
“Poor guy,” Katie says, shaking her head. “Poor, _poor_ guy.”

  
OoOoO

  
It’s another hour before he comes around. Rachel is in the room when he starts to stir and she takes a preparatory breath, hoping she’s ready for whatever will happen next. The lights are dimmed and she’s managed to get him into underwear and a gown and under blankets on the bed in the hope that when he wakes, he’ll feel safe and not threatened. She’s managed to take blood and carry out other basic tests whilst he was asleep so, for now, she can focus on gaining his trust.

  
“Hi,” she says gently when his eyes open and land on her. She’s keeping a safe distance again, for both their sakes.

  
She hears his sharp intake of breath as his eyes dart around, frantically trying to work out where he is.

  
“You can relax, you’re safe.”

  
She’s willing him to believe her because if she has to call security, then there’s a possibility they may decide he’d be better in police custody and she really doesn’t want that to happen, for his sake. She remains completely still and after several tense moments, his breathing slows.

  
“I’m Rachel,” she says, not sure if he’ll remember her introduction from downstairs. “I'm a nurse here. Can you tell me your name?”

  
Her question’s met with silence. She’s considered that he might not speak English, but she has to at least try.

  
"You're at University College Hospital in London."

  
Her query that he might not speak English is answered soon enough as his eyes widen in apparent shock. Since he's been taking in his surroundings, she can only assume that it's the 'London' part of what she's just said that's causing his surprise. She then wonders if he's got some kind of memory loss.

  
"I want to try and help you. I'll explain everything I want to do and I won't do any of it without your permission, okay?"

  
He doesn't give her an answer, but his eyes flick to meet hers. _Good enough_ , she thinks.

  
"Okay, good. First, I need to know if you're in pain anywhere. Can you show me if anything hurts you right now?"

  
Her eyes go automatically to his right hand and the twisted, gnarled fingers and then back to his face, but his expression never changes. It's possible that they _aren't_ painful - they may just be old like a lot of the wounds on his body and have healed, albeit badly. They'll probably need X-Raying at some point, even if it's not critical that it's done now.

  
"Okay. Are you hungry?"

  
This time she catches a flicker in his eyes - she almost misses it - even though his expression remains like it's been cast in marble. _You are_ , she thinks, but it's clear he isn't going to give any indication that he is. She makes a decision then.

  
"I'll be right back," she tells him with a warm smile.

  
There's a kitchenette on this floor, for relatives whose loved ones are here for the long haul. A quick search of the cupboards yields some chocolate chip cookies and a couple of apples. She grabs them along with some water and heads back. If she's right about him being hungry she can phone catering to see if she can get him a meal, but for now she'll try this.

She re-enters the isolation room and is relieved to find that he hasn't moved. His eyes follow her like lasers and it's hard to not feel intimidated by the scrutiny, even though it's clear that he's more afraid of her than she is of him.

  
"Here you go. Sorry it's not much, but I can try and get you a meal."

  
His eyes study her for a moment before they move to the food and drink in her hands. She holds it out to him, but if anything he seems to retreat further into himself.

  
"Okay," she says gently. "I'll just put these here."

  
She moves away, but a quick glance back tells her that he's frozen in place. His expression, still fixed on the food, is almost painful in longing.

  
"I've just got to go and check on something," she announces even though he's not even looking at her.

Without waiting for a reaction, she heads out, ensuring that the door closes fully behind her. She waits a beat and then carefully moves so that she can see in through the small window in the door. Breath held, she watches as he looks around furtively before easing himself off the bed and using his one good hand to grab all the food and the bottled water. He looks utterly desperate as his eyes flick around the room and she starts to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.

  
Suddenly he darts out of view and she has to lean further to be able to see where he's gone. He's now on the floor, hunched over in the corner of the room. The bottle sits in front of him, untouched, while he uses his left hand to feed himself the cookies. He devours them with stomach-churning haste before reaching for the first apple. Barely a minute has passed before the piece of fruit is gone, core included. She turns away before he starts on the second, having seen enough.

  
Concern for him growing by the minute, she heads for the nurses' station. If she can't get him a meal she'll go down to the kitchens and make him one herself. She doesn't know what's happened to this man, but she's going to do everything within her power to help him.

TBC...


	2. Baby Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys. I wish I had a better excuse than I'm slow and easily distractible, however true it is. I'm not just saying this, but comments really do help spur me on. 
> 
> Thanks to Terry for the beta. Any remaining errors are mine due to last-minute meddling on my part. For storytelling purposes, all medical information should be treated to a healthy dose of hand-waving and taken with a large pinch of salt (not a medical recommendation).

The temptation to make him a feast after she watches him eat the cookies and apples is almost too much. In reality, she gets him some sandwiches because the likelihood of him keeping down large quantities of food aren't good when it's clear he hasn't eaten for a long time.

Even this proves too much for him; the sandwiches disappear with the same undignified haste once she leaves the room, only to be vomited back up barely ten minutes later. She cleans up the mess while he watches her from the far corner, body folded impossibly small as his eyes track her warily.

"It's okay," she says, disposing of the soiled cloths. "If you've not eaten for a while, your stomach's obviously not ready for loads of food. We can try again in a bit."

She offers him a reassuring smile as she leaves the room. Katie is at the nurses' station; the nurse looks up expectantly at the sound of footsteps.

"How's he doing?"

Rachel sighs as she approaches the desk. "He needs a full examination."

"Dr. Mathis is on tonight."

There's an unspoken communication about what this means. Mathis is an excellent doctor, but his bedside manner lacks the necessary patience and empathy.

"Dr. Williams is on in the morning," Katie suggests.

This is better. She can talk the doctor through everything that's happened so far, knowing it will inform his approach toward this patient.

"I'll wait then," she says decisively. "I don't think there's anything that needs treating urgently and maybe a few more hours will help him settle better."

"I wonder what's happened to him," Katie muses. She leans back in the chair and it creaks slightly at the movement.

Rachel shrugs, feeling tired for the first time this shift. "I dunno. Nothing good, evidently."

OoOoO

Barely fifteen minutes have passed and she feels compelled to check on him again. He hasn't moved from where she left him on the floor, but his eyes are barely open and his head is falling forward onto his chest. She opens the door and clears her throat softly. He's awake in an instant, impossibly alert, like he's ready for battle, even in this pitiful state.

"Sorry," she says gently, staying over by the door. "I wanted to check you were okay."

She crouches down, instinctively trying to shrink her already small frame. "How about we get you into bed? I'm sure you'd feel better there."

After a moment, she stands slowly and goes to the bed, pulling back the covers. Hospital bedding isn't exactly designed to be inviting, but she'd thought about it earlier and has managed to dig out a warm-looking blanket to go on top of the sterile white sheets. When he hasn't moved, she goes back over to him, movements deliberately slow, studying his expression for any sign that she needs to stop or retreat.

Just like when they were downstairs, he allows her close. Once she's in touching distance, she gets down on the floor with him. It's safer to stay in a crouch in case he's suddenly violent and she needs to get away quickly, but she's just not getting those vibes from him. Praying she won't regret her decision, she sits down in front of him on the cool vinyl, legs tucked underneath her.

She doesn't speak for a moment. His eyes are still darting around, every so often landing on her face before looking away again just as quickly. Even with the overhead fluorescents dimmed, he's frighteningly pale. His hair is wild and matted in parts - she did the best she could while he was unconscious, but she wasn't able to free it all completely and it's certainly not her place to start cutting it off, even though that might be the only solution.

She's suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to speak to him, because she's knows he's listening even if he can't maintain eye contact with her.

"I know you might be scared or confused, and I don't know if you can't remember what happened to you or if you can't say, but please believe me when I say you're completely safe here. No one will be allowed to hurt you or even do anything to you without your permission, but in order to get you well, I need you to trust me."

After a moment, he meets her gaze and holds it for a few seconds - the longest he's looked at her so far.

"Please, let me look after you."

As she finishes speaking she extends her hand to him. It hovers in the air between them for what feels like an eternity. Her arm is starting to ache when, minutely, his left hand moves out to join it. He's shaking slightly. His fingers barely graze her palm, but the feather-lite touch feels like a victory all the same. Her smile broadens as her eyes travel from their joined hands up to his face.

"Come on," she repeats. "Let's get you into bed, okay?"

She slowly eases herself into standing, relieved when allows himself to be drawn upwards by the barely-there purchase on his hand. He moves with her as she steps backwards and she realises that he's favouring his right leg. Another potential injury.

"Here we go. You're doing great."

She manoeuvres him round until his back touches the bed. He looks so tense, like a strong breeze might snap him in two, and his eyes are now fixed firmly on her face, looking for signs of danger. With gentle encouragement, she gets him onto the bed although it takes longer still to get him to lie down.

With that hurdle overcome, she pulls the sheets up and then covers him with the blanket. Head resting on the crisp, white pillow, he's still watching her. She honestly believes he hasn't blinked the entire time.

"Well done. I know that can't have been easy."

Slowly, cautiously, she moves her hand to cover his as it rests on top of the blanket. She squeezes it gently. His expression never changes, but eventually his eyes drift closed. As his breathing evens out, she studies his sleeping form. Ignoring the scars, his face is free from significant lines of age. However old he is, whatever he's endured is a tragedy that has created this broken shell of a man. Physically and mentally, he's obviously got a long road ahead of him.

OoOoO

For the next few hours she feels like she can relax a little. Every time she looks in on him, he's still sleeping soundly. Then suddenly he isn't.

"What the...?" she says under her breath as she goes to push open the door, panic rising. She's been catching up on other jobs while he was sleeping so there is a possibility he could have left the room and maybe even the ward.

Her fear subsides just as quickly when she realises that he's still in the room. In a gap between two wall units, he's sitting on the floor again, legs drawn up, left arm hugging those long, scarred limbs. He's breathing fast, eyes wide. Coming closer, she can see that he's sweating hard.

"Hey," she says softly.

She's unprepared by how violently he jumps and then tries to scramble backwards, not that there's anywhere for him to go. Even though his eyes are open, it's clear he had no idea she was there until she spoke. He looks utterly terrified. In his one good hand, he's holding a small pair of surgical scissors as a weapon. Her hands come up, desperate to placate him.

"It's okay, it's okay. Please, just put them down."

It feels like an age before his breathing slows and he lowers his makeshift weapon. Her relief is almost palpable. She holds out her hand - he doesn't give her the scissors, but eventually, he allows her to take them from him.

"Thank you, my lovely," she says, the words exhaled on the breath she'd been holding. "You're doing great."

She walks across the room to put the weapon out of reach. Beyond the blinds, daylight is starting to appear. He's never going to go back to sleep now, so encouraging him to get back in bed seems pointless.

"It's almost dawn," she announces. "Why don't we have another go at trying to get some food in you, huh?"

His gaze remains fixed firmly on the floor.

"I'll be right back."

They repeat the earlier process once she's secured him some food. He devours what she brings, once she's left the room, but this time the modest meal of lightly-buttered toast and a cup of milk stay down.

She's due to finish her shift in the next hour, but Dr. Williams won't be on duty until seven so she texts her husband an apology that she'll be late back and he'll have to manage the school run. He replies saying it's fine.

The next shift starts and she does the usual handover: what patients they have, updates on their various conditions and any jobs that are outstanding. Sandra is the ward sister on this shift. She's older than Rachel by a good ten years and runs a tight ship and they get on well enough even though they spend very little time together because they're always working opposing shifts.

Sandra doesn't comment on the fact that she's staying on in order to speak to the consultant before he starts his rounds, but there's a flicker of something in her expression that Rachel hoped not to see. She tries to explain about the new patient in their isolation room and the tiny, tiny steps it's taken to gain any kind of trust from him. It's difficult to determine the meaning behind the noise Sandra makes when it's suggested that they go into his room together so that Rachel can explain Sandra is there to help also.

"He's extremely traumatised," she says, trying not to sound annoyed. "If you go in there and he doesn't know who you are, he'll never let you near him.”

Sandra laughs; the fact that she's currently logging into the computer at the same time says she doesn't think this conversation requires her full attention.

"I'm not _that_ scary, am I?"

Rachel wills her face into something resembling a smile.

"Of course not, but something has happened to this man to cause such horrendous injuries. I've never seen anyone quite so... _damaged_."

Immediately, she regrets her words because Sandra's got a good eight or nine years on her experience-wise and this is one pissing contest she's never going to win. Sandra's smile curves into something that borders on patronising.

"He'll be fine, but if you want to stay on, then be my guest."

OoOoO

It's a relief when Dr. Williams arrives. He's an excellent physician and he values his staff, so when Rachel sits down with him to outline the night's events, she talks through everything without once receiving a look that says he thinks she's exaggerating.

"His bloods came back a little while ago," she says reaching the end of her summation, "It's everything you'd expect from a person with severe malnutrition. There are obviously significant physical injuries - some seem quite old - but I'm not sure he's able to tell us if he's in any pain currently. The only thing he's shown any discomfort over is the lighting."

"Well," the physician says when she's finished. "You certainly have had an interesting night. I understand your shift has finished, but I can go and visit him now if you wanted me to see him before you leave."

This is exactly what she wanted to hear and she smiles, relieved.

"Thank you."

They walk together through the ward, past the nurses' station where Sandra eyes them curiously. When they reach the door, Dr. Williams stops.

"Maybe you should go in first, explain to him who I am?"

She nods, glad all over again that she decided to wait until this physician was in. If anyone else can get near their patient, it'll be him. Satisfied that he'll wait for the okay, she pushes open the door, finding her charge where she left him earlier.

"Hey," she says softly, smiling broadly. "Hope you're feeling a little better with some food in you. It's a good sign that you've managed to keep it down this time."

His eyes flick up to her face briefly. His left hand is cradling his right arm, almost protectively.

"I've got someone who wants to meet you," she continues, crouching down in front of him. "He's a doctor here. I really like him. I've told him all about you and he knows that you might find an examination really stressful, but if we're going to get you well, then it'd be really useful to let him take a look at you. Do you think that would be okay?"

She's not expecting any kind of agreement - only a negative response if it's too much. His eyes continue to dart everywhere.

"How about we move you back to the bed?"

When she extends her hand to him, this time he doesn't take it. Belatedly, she realises that he keeps returning to his current position because it affords him security, something he'll undoubtedly need if he's going to meet someone new.

"Okay, no worries if you wanna stay there. I'm gonna go let him in. I promise you, we can stop at any time."

Standing slowly, she makes her way back to the door, admitting the waiting physician. She gives the doctor a nod and a brief glance before her attention returns to her patient, studying him constantly for any indication that this might be about to go badly.

"Okay," she says, preparing for the next hurdle. "This is Dr. Williams."

They all wait a beat to allow his roving gaze to include the newcomer. He shifts slightly on the floor, the muscle in his jaw jumping, a subtle indication of increased tension.

"You're doing great," she soothes, wishing she had his name at least.

"I hear you might have had a rough time recently," the physician says, an expert in the art of reassuring anxious patients. "And we certainly don't want to add to your discomfort, so we can take this as slowly as you need."

Dr. Williams is following her lead and only moves when she indicates it's okay to do so. Slowly, she gets down on the floor - she's not expecting the distinguished consultant to copy her, but he does and _God_ , does she love him for it.

"I won't do anything you're not comfortable with and we can stop anytime," the doctor continues, "I'd like to examine you to work out where we go next. If you're ill or injured, then we can help you."

They need his agreement to proceed, so she tries to get it the only way she knows how. The silence is heavy with tension, the seconds pass with agonising slowness. She waits. It takes longer this time, but eventually his hand moves out toward hers. She allows it to rest there a moment - wanting to be sure - before she curls her fingers to squeeze it gently.

"Thank you," she says, relieved and grateful. "Let's get started then."

OoOoO

Twenty minutes later they're back outside the room. As she'd suspected, Dr. Williams is of the opinion that there's nothing that needs treating urgently, but that they need to take X-rays so that they can fully get a handle on the many injuries he's presenting with. Ideally, the medic wants to give intravenous fluids and nutrients too, but that's a whole other challenge.

"I will, of course, support your recommendation that he stays in isolation," Dr. Williams concludes as they walk down the corridor together. "It's clear he can't be around other people and with that level of malnutrition, his immune system will be severely compromised. One infection and he could suddenly be an extremely poorly man."

It's true. She's worried enough for him already and evidently it shows on her face because Dr. Williams smiles and places a hand on her arm.

"He'll be _fine_. He has _you_ looking after him." When she smiles he adds, "Now go home and get some rest."

OoOoO

She tries, she really _does_ , but her mind keeps straying to the previous night's events and it's almost a relief when it's time to return to work that evening. The ward is quiet, but she's barely through the door when she runs into Clare. Clare's only been a registered nurse for a couple of years, but she's competent and thorough. Today, she looks a little rattled.

"Hey. How's it been?"

Clare glances around quickly. "Busy, and Sandra's in a foul mood. Something about the patient we've got in isolation?"

Rachel nods, although her heart sinks. "Sorry. I'm sure she's told you it's all my fault he's here. Is he okay?"

"He's not let anyone near him all day. We've taken him food, but he hasn't eaten any of it. What's happened to him?"

Rachel glances down the corridor, wanting this conversation over so she can get to her charge, but not wanting to appear rude.

"We don't know," she replies truthfully. "Hopefully we can help him get through it though."

She's about to turn and walk when Clare says, "One other thing; Sandra called Social Services. They're due to send someone out tomorrow to assess him for capacity."

There's a slightly apologetic note to the nurse's voice as she says it, even though Rachel knows it was inevitable and she has no intention of shooting the messenger. She just can't imagine their patient tolerating yet another new face so soon, especially one who needs to ascertain if he has the mental faculties to make decisions for himself. She knew she'd have to do it herself, but she was hoping to buy him a little more time.

"Thanks for letting me know."

She heads for the isolation room, relieved that she doesn't run into Sandra on the way. A glance in through the window first reveals he's in his familiar position on the floor, tucked into himself. There's a tray of food barely ten feet away from him, but it's completely untouched. Her heart sinks; he's half-starved and yet he hasn't gone near it. She pushes open the door.

"Hey," she says softly as she comes to stand just over the threshold. He's barely moved, yet somehow, she can sense the increased tension in him rolling off him in waves. She lets the door close behind her. Now inside, she can see the disposal waste container she’d left on the floor. There's no urine in it. It's like he hasn't moved an inch the entire time she's been gone and the only bodily function he's allowed himself to do is breathe.

"I'm back on duty now." She waits a beat, finding a smile for him, willing him to derive some kind of comfort from her being here. "Do you remember me? My name's Rachel."

He glances at her fleetingly, so she keeps going.

"I'm sorry if all the changes have made you worry. I promise you, everyone's here to help."

She starts to move toward the tray on the floor, eventually reaching it and crouching down. "I'll get you some fresh food," she states. "I'm guessing this might have been here a while."

When she leaves, Katie is just arriving, shrugging out of her jacket as she walks down the corridor.

"Hey," the nurse says in greeting, quickly followed by, "how's he doing?"

Rachel can't help the wry smile. "Is it that obvious?"

"Part of me was wondering if you'd ever leave. When you did, I knew you'd be back early."

"Yeah, well, unsurprisingly, Sandra's not impressed. I was hoping I'd be able to take her in there, get her acquainted so he would let her care for him too, but she's such an experienced nurse, she didn't seem to think it would be an issue."

Katie reads the sarcasm just fine. She nods, tight lipped, her expression thoughtful.

"Well, how about we work on getting him to tolerate me and we can see if anyone's up for a shift change for a couple of days. Then one of us will always be here."

It's music to her ears, frankly. "That would be great, but are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have offered, would I?"

She reaches out and gives Katie’s arm a squeeze. “Thank you. I think it'll be a big help.”

OoOoO

Despite her worries, her shift proves uneventful. He spends almost the entire time on the floor, even though she manages to coax him back to bed a couple of times. She fetches him a chair, after he gets out of bed for the second time, but as far as she can tell, it remains unused. Despite her fears that he may try to up and leave while she's elsewhere, he doesn't even appear interested in investigating his immediate surroundings, never mind the world beyond his room.

She runs basic health checks on him periodically - temperature, blood pressure, nothing major or even particularly vital - to ensure that he will continue to allow her close. When Katie is free, the other nurse comes in while she does them. The process she used with Dr. Williams worked well, so she repeats it, telling him about Katie and then gradually bringing her into the room. By the end of her shift he's allowed Katie to take those same readings, bringing the number of people he's tolerated physical contact from up to three. Katie's already managed to swap shifts with a colleague, so things are looking up.

It's still a wrench knowing she has to leave, though. Her study of him over this shift has added nightmares to the list of his issues as he twitches and gasps, before bolting awake and launching himself back into his place of safety, breathing hard, expression terrified, a cycle that repeats far too frequently for him to get any good-quality rest. She makes a note to speak to Dr. Williams about prescribing something to help him sleep, especially if they want to try and get IV fluids in him.

When her shift is over, she explains to him that she has to go, but Katie will be staying on to take care of him and will check on him frequently. It's impossible to know if the words are really registering and he looks so pitiful as she goes to leave, that she almost changes her mind and stays. She eventually allows Katie to usher her out of the door, but only after she extracts a solemn promise from the other nurse that she'll call as soon as the impending visit from a social worker is confirmed.

She arrives home exhausted, to a flurry of activity. Breakfast is well underway, although there are the usual complaints about missing gym shorts and whose turn it is to ride shotgun on the way to school. Steve kisses her around a mouthful of toast as she reaches up and ties his tie for him. He studies her for a moment, reading everything he's seeing.

“How's your mystery patient?” he asks, softly.

“Still a mystery,” she replies with a rueful smile. “And still incredibly traumatised.”

Steve's a road traffic accident investigator so he knows a little something about traumatised people and he believes her when she says this guy is off the charts. He strokes her hair away from her face and kisses her forehead gently.

“Well, if anyone can help him, it's you. Now try to get some sleep. I'll see you later.”

He heads for the door, where their children are waiting, school bags in hand.

“Um…” she begins, hating the disruption to their lives before she's even said it. “There's a chance I might have to go back in early. It's just… Sandra called Social Services and they're gonna be sending someone out and—”

Steve turns back and gives her arm a squeeze, smiling. “Rachel, it's _fine_. Go do what you have to do, but let me know as soon as, so I can work out whether me and the girls need to gatecrash my mum’s for dinner.”

He winks at the girls, because this is code for ‘we’ll probably end up at Pizza Hut or McDonalds’. She laughs and shakes her head.

“I'll leave something in the fridge for you, you know, just in case your mum’s busy.”

She waves them off and then stands for a moment, absorbing the silence of the now-empty house. She needs to get some sleep, but her mind is still firmly fixed on work, or more specifically, the man in isolation. Instead, she does a few jobs around the house, gets a casserole out of the freezer, just in case by some miracle, the girls don't want pizza later, and just as she's about to force herself to bed, she receives a text from Katie: _social worker coming at 4pm x_

Quickly, she texts back that she'll be there. Now she knows what's happening, she takes a quick shower, sets her alarm, and then climbs into bed. She's still doubtful she's going to be able to sleep, but before she knows it, she's under and dreaming fitfully of a silent, green-eyed stranger.

TBC…

 


End file.
